


beach daze

by GryfoTheGreat



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Beach, Alternate Universe - Lifeguards, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Summer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-18 16:21:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2354858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GryfoTheGreat/pseuds/GryfoTheGreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mako serves coffee, Korra saves lives, and they kinda fall in love along the way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	beach daze

**Author's Note:**

> I based a fic on my summer job. I am trash. Mako takes my place, and yes, there was a rather attractive lifeguard (as my co-worker put it; “If I didn't have a boyfriend already...”) but nothing happened. Them's the breaks.  
> This fic also boasts a [fanmix](http://8tracks.com/gryfothegreat/beach-daze)! God, I love those things.

It's not a café, really, the place where Mako works; there's nowhere to sit down and drink your coffee unless you're willing to brave the cold and sit on the benches outside. On wet days Ina, his boss, lets people sit in the porch usually reserved for patrons of the seaweed baths, but most simply pick up their drink and go. They seldom tip.

He's pretty glad to have the job. Ina's a friend of his old history teacher, and she offered him a place when she heard about his trouble with getting his grant through. The money isn't brilliant, but the food is free and his co-workers are kind; there's Ina, who plays a lot of sport very badly, her brother Gya, who is invariably accompanied by Muri, the family deer-dog, and Jem, their father, who sings to himself incomprehensibly as he works, harvesting seaweed and soaking it in hot baths for people to ease their aches and pains. It's a Water Tribe thing, but is inexplicably popular even here, just down the coast from Republic City. Mako doesn't exactly see the allure of getting into a bath full of oily ocean grass, but hey. Who is he to criticise?

Hopefully, what he makes this summer (along with the grant if it ever comes through) will get him and Bolin through the coming year; Mako's first in college, and Bolin's penultimate in secondary school. He got a free ride at RCU, studying criminal justice; his hope is that after he gets his degree he'll be accepted to the Beifong Police Academy as a potential detective.

But to get there, he must not only graduate from college but also continue to win martial arts tournaments; each win is accompanied by a cash prize that they really can't do without. Keeping a job on top of that is pretty tough, but he thinks he can handle it.

Maybe.

 

It's reasonably quiet today. The waves move sluggishly, and the sky is pewter; the threat of rain has staved off any bathers. A few regulars come in; there's that teacher lady who really likes cake, the man who always gets a coffee and is always a few fen short, those two kids sent up by their parents who, in his private opinion, shouldn't be dealing with boiling water every day.

And then there's the lifeguards.

There's a few of them clustered together in that little hut, wearing garish red and gaudy yellow. Cha, the guy with the beard, used to get their stuff; despite resembling a cross between a male model and a pro-wrestler, he took about five sugars in his tea. He's gone, though. There's a new girl now, with eyes brighter than the sea and skin darker than sand.

“Hey!” She slips in through the half-closed door. “Horrible day, huh?” Her damp hair is proof enough.

“Sure is.” He flips down three cups from the stacks on the fridge. “Peppermint, Earl Grey, and a coffee, right?”

She smiles then; it lights up her face, and he feels inexplicably proud of himself. All he did was remember her order.

He drops the tea bags into their cups and as she fills them, he starts the coffee. The machine groans alarmingly, as it always does; Mako learned long ago to ignore it.

She sniffs the Earl Grey tentatively. “Ew. My mind says tea, but my nose says lemon. How does Tahno drink this stuff?” She must be talking about the guy with the flippy hair, judging by the tea choice. What kind of lifeguard wears a cravat?

“Some people like it,” he replies, grabbing some sugar sachets to dump into the coffee. “Three, is it?”

“Yup,” she says, nodding. “Hasook likes it sweet. I prefer it black.”

“Me too,” he tells her, stirring in the sugar. “Do you want anything else?”

“Umm...” Her nose wrinkles as she pours milk into the Earl Grey. “What do you recommend?”

He looks around, suddenly at a loss. “...These?” He snatches a packet of matcha tea-cakes.

“Ooh!” She sniffs the plastic, and he wonders if she realises that plastic doesn't have a smell. “I'll go for these, so.”

He caps the cups and slides them into a holder before she's even finished extracting her money, rooting around in the pockets of her cardinal shorts; somehow, the garish colours suit her, tone with her bronzed skin. He bets he'd look ridiculous in them. Mako sticks with washed out denim, slate grey, clean whites and, sometimes, poppy red. Bolin accuses him of being boring, but his little brother owns floral shorts; he's not gonna take fashion advice from him.

She slides the exact cost up on the counter, and then, when he has gathered them, one more yuan.

“See ya around!” Before he can return it to her, she darts back into the storm, yanking her hood up.

He flips the coin and slips it into his pocket, where it remains.

 

When he gets home from work, Bolin is spread-eagled on the couch, phone cradled in his hands, pulling silly faces and taking pictures. Mako plucks it from him as he passes, titles the grainy photo 'im sending this pic to five other girls' and presses send. Bolin squawks and catches it as Mako lets it slip between his fingers.

“Who's Opal?” Mako toes his shoes off.

“She's perfect, and now - now she'll hate me!” Bolin presses the smooth black of his phone to his eyes and wails.

“I thought you were volunteering at that camp to 'shape young minds', not to pick up girls.” He moves into the kitchen and opens the fridge; he crouches to peer inside.

“Opal... Opal picked me up. No, she... she swept me off my feet!” Bolin appears in the door, mournful. “You ruined it all! We could've gotten married!”

“Hey, if she's the one, she's realised it was a joke. Check it.” As he pulls out the stock he made yesterday, Bolin does just that, waiting in abject anticipation as the phone loads. His shriek of joy makes Mako drop the (luckily packaged) beef, and his little brother shoves his phone into his face; he catches a glimpse of a green eyes and a wide smile before the image disappears.

“C'mon, lovebird. Help me with dinner, will ya?” Bolin grouches a little as he stuffs his phone in his pocket, but he takes to charring the onions with gusto as Mako strains the broth.

When they finish eating enough pho to last them a week, Bolin finally stops gushing about camp long enough to ask Mako how his day was.

“Quiet, I guess. That lifeguard came in again.” He chases a noodle around the bottom of his bowl, cheap chopsticks clacking against the cracked china.

“Oh, the real Water Tribe girl?” Mako nods, and Bolin smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Maybe it isn't the coffee she wants...”

Mako, having finally caught it, flips the noodle at him; Bolin ducks, chair clattering back to to the ground. “You're washing up.” He gets up and takes his bowl with him. Bolin's complaints are just for the sake of it; Mako already did most of the clean-up. For the sake of efficiency, he always tidies as he cooks.

His bed creaks beneath him as he crumples onto it and closes his eyes, just briefly. His side of the room is neat, shelves lined with trophies depicting gi-clad men executing a front-snap kick, stacks of cheap wuxia books side-by-side with texts on the court system. By contrast, Bolin's side is chaotic, clothes trailing across the floor, pictures and keepsakes scattered on his dresser.

Mako forces his eyes open. He needs to fill out that application form for the rental allowance, and then he has to go to their kwoon to prep for the tournament next week. When he comes home, he'll shower, and then he'll sleep and then he'll get up and go to work again. It's a vicious circle, but Mako's used to it; the moment he first signed as Bolin's guardian was the proudest of his life. If he takes on the responsibility, maybe Bolin will be a normal teenager, drinking a little too much in his friend's back garden and dating pretty girls. The last time Mako drank he ended up with a gun to his temple, and he refuses to remember his encounters with the opposite sex.

His eyes slide shut. Maybe just a few minutes...

 

He serves her a couple more times before he learns her name. The sun is shining so it's busy, and as she exits, bottles of water in hand, arms exposed by her racerback red tank, Ina calls out; “Thanks for earlier, Korra!”

Korra waves a dismissive hand. “Don't worry about it!”

Mako stands there for a few moments, trying her name out; Korra. Totally Water Tribe. It suits her like the tank does, sticking to her back with sweat and sea water, along with the few damp curls that slipped out of her ponytail.

He jerks out of his trance when he realises that a queue of disgruntled customers is slowly forming, and gets back to work.

 

One evening, Bolin meets him outside the café. There's a girl with him, green-eyed and dainty, and as Mako says goodbye to Gya she knocks her hip into Bolin's, receiving a poke in her belly in return. They giggle conspiratorially as he approaches.

“Yo, bro!” Bolin makes a show out of greeting him, waving his arms exuberantly. Mako walks straight past him, face carefully composed, and the girl breaks into raucous laughter.

Bolin, after a theatrical bout of anger, slings an arm across his shoulders. “This, Opal, is my cruel asshole of a brother. Mako, this is Opal, the gem-” his other arm curls around her shoulders, “of my life.”

Opal rolls her eyes, even though she's blushing. “I've heard so much about you, Mako,” she says, slipping Bolin's arm off her shoulder and instead twining her fingers with his.

“Me too,” he replies, the tone of his words enough to tell her just how much he's heard (which is to say, a _lot_.) Opal giggles again. They fit each other, he thinks; easy laughs and green-eyed smiles and rough hands pressed together, the promise of love in their careless glances.

He asks them about camp and they slip into stories, about the hippie head-counsellor and the terrible food and the two kids that the entire camp are trying to get together. He lets their words wash over him, realising that the stories are more for their own benefit than his. He nods when he should and watches the sun play over the surf as they cross the sand.

“Hey!” A voice catches his attention, and his head whips to the side. Korra, the lifeguard, is dangling over the railings of the lifeguard's hut, hand raised in greeting. Mako returns the gesture, and he thinks she grins, but another lifeguard drags her inside.

“Mako! Is that the Water Tribe girl?” Bolin pokes his shoulder.

“Huh? Oh, yeah. Korra.” He shoves his hands into his pockets with practised nonchalance.

Opal's eyebrows draw together. “Wait, I think I know her... Isn't she the one that picks up those three kids? You know, that politician's children?”

“You're right!” Bolin's fist smacks into his palm. “She must be kinda important, so; Councilman Tenzin is one of President Raiko's advisors. And he's the old Avatar's son!”

Opal looks slightly uncomfortable at the mention of Tenzin and Avatar Aang; quickly, she changes the subject. “How do you know her, Mako?”

“She comes into the café sometimes. I'm kinda surprised she knows I exist.” He rubs the back of his neck. “C'mon, let's go get something to eat. What would you like, Opal?”

It has the desired effect; Bolin roars “DUMPLINGS!”

Opal, left in his wake, frets. “I don't know, I don't really eat much take-out...”

He lets them go ahead, and glances back at the hut; it's vacant, and he feels a little disappointed.

 

The day starts off slow, normal; the sun hides behind the clouds, and the sea is flat and still. Ina doesn't expect much business, so he pulls out a book on historical methods of interrogation (mostly torture) in anticipation of being able to read a good few pages.

Then noon comes, and the sun shows its face, and suddenly it seems that the world and his mother are at the beach, and each and every one of them wants something hot to drink. Jem and Gya rush back and forth, slopping oily water from the buckets of seaweed onto the floor .

He's in the middle of counting out change for an elderly woman when there's a loud screech. Every customer's head whips to the door, and Mako is no exception. He puts the yuan down and goes to the window.

Someone is arcing into the water from a surfboard, a flash of red darting towards flailing limbs. The man is dragged to shore and as a circle of onlookers forms, Korra drops to her knees beside the swimmer's prone form and begins to administer CPR. Soon, he jerks upwards, spouting seawater from his mouth, and the witnesses erupt in cheers; the man takes Korra's hands and begins to thank her effusively. She ignores them to hoist him up, and the crowd slowly parts to let her help him into the waiting ambulance.

The crowd in the café disperses, and suddenly Mako remembers that he has a job to do.

 

Korra comes in the next day towards closing time, and the locals who recognise her whoop. She laughs awkwardly, cheeks going red. “Just doing my job!” she says, as Jem claps her on the back.

“Any daring rescues today?” he asks, just a little sarcastically.

“Nah – just some lost kids. Can I have a hot chocolate?”

He passes her the cup without comment, and she sets it on the machine, and then stops, lost.

“Put it on the right side and press the right-hand button.” She does as he says, and the machine begins to whirr.

“Sorry, um... I never caught your name.” She looks a little sheepish, rotating the cup as it fills.

“I'm Mako.” He is named for an old general, a conqueror and a father and a friend to kings.

“Oh, like a shark!” She grins at him, teeth white against her dark lips. She's wrong, but he doesn't want to tell her that. “Anyway, I'm Korra.” She picks the cup up and brings it over to the counter.

“I know,” he says absent-mindedly, pouring some milk into it. The flow stops when he realises what he said. Did he sound like a creep? He probably did. Feeling his ears turn red, he starts babbling. “Um, you were talking to Ina and-” his shoulders slump. “I heard.”

Her smile is still on her face, and it makes him blush harder. “No worries! I'm used to people knowing my name.”

He ducks his head and puts the cap on her hot chocolate. She tries to hand him money, but he waves her hand away. “Orders from the boss,” he informs her, catching her confused look. “The hero of the beach can't pay for her food.” Her smile screws her mouth up sideways; on sight of it, his stomach goes the same way.

She sips her hot chocolate and lets out a little groan. “I'm addicted to this stuff.”

“It's nicer with coffee in it.”

She raises an eyebrow. “I'll try that next time.”

With that, she slips out the door, and he's left hoping that the next time thing materialises.

 

Luckily enough, the next time thing happens. He's sitting on the steps outside the café, waiting for Bolin to show up; they've to go to the social offices together to get their benefit. If they don't do it tonight, they'll miss the deadline and he'll have to figure out another way to pay the rent. Would he be able to pawn his trophies off?

He's lost in thought when she appears out of nowhere, folding herself down beside him. “Earth to Mako!” She waves her fingers in front of her face.

He focusses, and suddenly wishes that he didn't. She's wearing nothing but a yellow bikini top and red shorts that display expanses of toned stomach and long, long legs. Her hair is scraped back into a ponytail, and sand coats her feet.

“Korra! Um... I was about to...”

“You're fine. You waiting for your brother?” She notices his slightly baffled look. “Oh! Sorry, I saw you walking with him – the boy with the green eyes? You guys look kinda similar... I just guessed that you're related.”

“You'd be right,” he grumbles, and she bubbles into a laugh. “He's supposed to show up soon, but Bolin's... not great with time.”

“Huh...” She tips her head to the side, eyes bright. “Hey - instead of wasting your time sitting here on your ass, do you wanna go for a swim?”

“A swim?” Honestly, the prospect is tantalising; looking out on the sea every day but not being able to go into it is a little torturous. Besides, it's a muggy, humid day, and his dark red t-shirt is sticking to him. “I don't have anything to swim in...”

“You don't have to swim in anything.” Her tone is perfectly serious, and Mako goes bright red; she breaks out into laughter. “Your face! Don't worry, I can borrow something off the boys... unless you want to take me up on that offer.” She waggles her eyebrows.

Trying to muster as much dignity as he can, Mako politely declines. Korra dashes off, and after a brief confrontation, returns with a pair of black trunks. “Tahno tried to give me Speedos,” she says with distaste, and Mako shudders as he leaves her to go change in the staff bathroom.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't self-conscious about going outside in what basically amounts to underwear. Years of malnutrition in orphanages and care homes and even on the streets robbed him of any excess body mass; he's skinny, and even though he's strong, he's not that muscled. He always made sure that Bolin got all the excess food, so his brother is in far better form. Additionally, there's the litany of little scars and burns all over him, ranging from the cigarette burn on his hip from an overeager encounter with an older woman to the ugly lump of scar tissue under his arm where he dug out a shard of glass that was embedded in him for three weeks. Finally, there's the Triple Threat mark on the small of his back; a swirl of blue and red and green, invisible to him but visible to all else. He tried to carve it out of himself when he was younger, but all he got was a trip to the hospital when he nicked a vein.

But Korra must like what she sees, because the look she gives him when he finally emerges makes his stomach knot. “Race me?” she asks, once she's had her fill.

“Thought you'd never ask,” he says, and then they're off, feet sinking to the sand, water spraying from errant puddles.

When they hit the water the cold shocks through his body, pushing the breath from his lungs. Then he plunges into a wave; the cold slowly becomes bearable, and when he surfaces he gulps down copious amounts of chilly air and feels alive as his brain gradually thaws. The sea always has a way of slapping him awake and bringing everything into sharp focus, from the silky white of the clouds to his pinched-red hands.

“Fuck, that's cold,” he manages as Korra pops up from under the water, going from half-formed image to fully realised person in an instant.

“I've been in worse,” she says smoothly and pushes him under the next wave.

The sea is rough, and for that brief while his life becomes _dive, get up, find Korra, dive again._ In the brief lulls he talks to Korra and tries not to stare at her body, dripping with water; the low temperatures do interesting things to her skin, raising goosebumps that trail beneath her translucent bikini. She doesn't seem to care, grabbing his wrists with icy fingers and accidentally whipping her soaked hair into his face. He learns that she grew up in the Southern Water Tribe, that she practices ta'i chi, that her favourite tea is crowberry and that she speaks fluent Royal Siam; he attempts a few of the phrases his mother taught him, stumbling over the convoluted words, and she kindly corrects his pronunciation. She asks him about Bolin, about school and work and if he thinks there's an afterlife and if he owns a phone. She asks about his parents, but when he says he grew up without any, instead of offering him empty platitudes like most do, simply says that she did too. He tries not to laugh, because when he does he generally ends up with a mouthful of freezing seawater.

The rain drives them out of the water; they run up the beach, the air on their wet skin almost unbearable. They skid to a halt on the promenade, clutching each other, as Korra almost trips on the steps.

Suddenly, he realises that they are very, very close; he can see the water clinging to Korra's eyelashes, can make out each curl of her damp hair. There are freckles on her nose, trailing up to frame her blue eyes.

For a second, he lets his self-control drop and he imagines; what would it be like to kiss her? To feel her, shifting and alive, like the sea, beneath his hands? What would it be like to catch a lock of her hair and wind it around his finger? What would she smell like if he buried his nose in her neck?

“Bro!” At the sound of Bolin's voice the wall snaps back up; no, no, no and no. Too dangerous, too risky, how could he fit another person into his heart when Bolin has filled it all?

“Just a sec!” he yells and breaks way from Korra, leaving 'sorry!' and 'see you again?' in his wake as he dashes to the bathroom to change because if they're late he really is going to have to sell his trophies.

When he is fully clothed, Korra is gone, no trace of her left but two twin trails of footprints in the sand and the seawater deep in Mako's skin.

 

The match is almost over before it begins; Ula slams Shaozu on his back almost immediately, and he doesn't get up again. The other waiting competitors clap, but Mako doesn't, too busy tending to his wounded lip. He still won his match, though, so he's through to the next round, and he can sit on his ass for the rest of the exhibition. Sifu Toza tells him he's never seen someone so skilled in changquan, but Mako mostly ignores him. He finds Long Fist a little easier than proper Northern Shaolin; the distance helps clear his mind, lets him concentrate more on tactics. It suits him. The best defence is a good offence.

There's a ripple through the crowd as the door of the kwoon opens. Mako keeps his head down until someone sits on the bench beside him.

He looks up, and drops the bloodied towel he was holding to his lip. “Korra? What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too.” She picks the towel up and hands it to him. “Asami told me there was some matches on here, and, well, I miss my kwoon at home.”

“Asami?” Is she talking about Asami Sato, as in the heir to Future Industries, the manufacturer of the Satomobile? The one who caused the scandal of the year when she won a F1 world championship under a fake name? The one who sponsors this kwoon and, in turn, sponsored him?

“Hi!” A girl drops down beside Korra, and, yes, she means _that_ Asami. He's only ever glimpsed her before at big exhibitions and in the late-night darkness of the kwoon as she sparred with Toza, but close-up she's far more beautiful that what he thought; eyes the colour of spring leaves and hair shimmering like an oil slick. “Are you Mako? Toza says you're his most promising prospect. Korra says you're-” She's cut off when the girl in question elbows her in the stomach, and then lets out a pealing laugh as Korra mumbles under her breath.

Ignoring the weird girl stuff, Mako sticks out his hand. “Nice to meet you.” She shakes it, and even though he's soaked in sweat she doesn't grimace. “I, um, really appreciate all you've done for this kwoon. Without it I'd be-”

“Oh, it's nothing!” She waves a hand. “I owe Toza so much, sponsoring him is the least that I can do.” She gives him a somewhat devious look. “Besides, when he told me about the kid he found brawling under the Silk Road Bridge, I had to let him take you on. And look how far you've come! You're city champion, aren't you?”

Korra's head whips back and forth. “Under a bridge? City champion?”

“Later,” Asami tells her, patting her shoulder kindly. “Let's concentrate on the matches for now.”

So they do; Korra leans forward, hands cradling her chin, elbows on her knees, and Asami crosses her legs and folds her hands in her lap, eyes sharp. The news of her presence spreads around the kwoon, is whispered into fighter's ears as they step onto the mat, and their gaze flickers to the woman in the leather jacket, brows crinkling when they notice the Water Tribe girl and Mako ( _you know, Bolin's brother? What's he doin' with her?)_. Mako slumps back and wipes some errant blood off his chin, waiting patiently for Bolin's turn.

When he finally does emerge, everyone cheers; they all know Bolin as the nice guy who never has a bad word to say about anyone. Bolin does a bit of showboating, and raises his fist to Mako, like he always does; he returns the gesture, and out of the corner of his eye he sees Korra smiling.

The match begins, and Bolin's opponent, foolishly, goes in close, not releasing that that's where his little brother is most dangerous. They call him Glue Palms because Bolin always keeps his hands on the opponent to sense where they're going, wrists rotating around their forearms. It's funny, watching as the guy desperately tries to land a hit as Bolin easily keeps him at bay, even, at one point, bopping him lightly on the nose. But, eventually, Bolin gets bored; he drops into horse stance, thighs low. The other guy shoots his palm towards his now-exposed belly, but Bolin elbows his arm down, jabs him in the head, and knocks him on his ass with ease.

Korra whoops as Bolin bows with a flourish, his opponent groaning; Asami giggles. “Your brother's great. Hung Ga suits him, doesn't it?”

Mako nods. “He likes sticking to the ground... and he says it's the best style if you want a six-pack.”

“Well, at least he's honest.” Asami smiles wryly. “Let's hope he wins.”

Unsurprisingly, he does, and once they've finished bowing, he crashes over to Mako, who reluctantly high-fives him. “Did you see me out there? I was-”

“Not fast enough,” Mako finishes.

“Aww, bro...” Bolin's face drops.

“You're getting better, but there's always room for improvement. Well done.” Mako makes to punch his arm, but Bolin sees the movement flutter in his biceps and intercepts it before Mako even moves. He gives him a sharp grin. “See?”

Bolin nods begrudgingly. “Right - wait, who's this?”

Korra and Asami make their introductions: Bolin's eyes bug out of his head when he realises that it's _Asami Sato_ sitting on the bench in front of him.

“I was watching the Ember Island Grand Prix – when you spun out, I was sure you were gone, but then-” He throws his hands up in the air. “You won! It was crazy! Mako and I are huge supporters-”

“Yes, bro.” Mako yanks him down onto the bench. “Let's not scare her away.”

Asami is grinning widely. “I'm always happy to meet fans.”

Korra raises her eyebrows at Asami, and a strange look passes between them; Bolin doesn't notice it, and Mako decides not to comment.

It's getting late; the exhibition is almost over, and he has an early start tomorrow. A next-door neighbour asked for some help moving out, and Mako couldn't help but accept; she's a kind lady, who lent them things without ever asking for anything in return but their occasional company at dinner, disguising generosity as their payment. With that in mind, he nudges his brother and nods towards the exit.

“Well, ladies, it's been a great night...” Bolin stands up with all the reluctance of an old man, and stretches ostentatiously. “But my brother and I are kinda-sorta pooped from all the brawling today, and also we stink really bad – well, at least I stink, lemme check-” he lean over and sniffs Mako's armpit, and he's pretty sure that he is bright red all over- “Yep, he smells like bison dung too! So, y'know, showers, bed. She's the only woman I have ever loved, my bed, even though she's not quite queen-sized. So fare-”

Korra is outright guffawing at them; Asami, a little more ladylike, is hiding her giggles behind her hand.

Mako shoves Bolin in the general direction of the door. “Out!” He turns to Korra. “I... probably should have warned you,” he says lamely.

“A-about what?” she asks, grinning. “Bolin?”

“About Bolin,” he sighs. “He doesn't have a filter. Anyway, I gotta go. It was nice meeting you, Asami.”

She gives him a gracious smile. “The pleasure was all mine.”

“See you soon?” Korra's eyes are bright with – something. He can't describe it, or at least he doesn't want to.

“Sure.”

A yell from Bolin catches his attention, and he swivels around, forgoing any more goodbyes. When he catches up with his brother, Bolin bangs into his hip and mutters, “Hey, you know the way I have really good hearing?”

“Yeah?” Mako immediately goes on the defensive.

Bolin moves his mouth to his ear and continues. “Well, Asami said you had a really nice-”

“I do not need to hear this.” Mako attempts to pull away from his brother, but Bolin grabs his elbow, preventing escape.

“She said you had a really nice butt, and get this; Korra agreed!”

Mako goes silent, and then says; “I was right; I didn't need to hear that.”

Bolin chatters on obliviously. “Hey, if you play your cards right, we both might end up with summer dalliances!”

“Bo?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

 

The café is reasonably busy; the pace is pleasant, neither sluggish nor frantic. Mako likes these kind of days the most. The customers keep his mind occupied, but he doesn't feel guilty about leaving Ina to cope on her own when he goes on break.

There are no customers when she enters, by the door further down the hall, closer to the baths. Ina greets her, chatting with her about her work as Mako tries to make himself look busy, Bolin's comment bouncing around his head.

“I was wondering, is there a bath free?” Korra asks eventually. “I haven't had one since I left the Southern Water Tribe!”

“Of course!” Ina bustles off to stick her head into the back kitchen. “DAD! ONE BATH!” Jem's reply is inaudible, but presumably he's going off to get a bucket of seaweed and a towel. Ina leaves to start running the bath.

“Do I pay here?” Korra queries.

“Yup. Twenty yuans, please.” She extricates the money from her pocket and he deposits it in the till.

“You ever been for one?” When he looks at her in confusion, she clarifies. “A seaweed bath, I mean.”

“Nah.” He makes a face. “The whole slimy seaweed thing doesn't exactly appeal to me.”

“Your loss. They're so nice! I can't believe you haven't been for one. If I was working here, I'd take one a day!”

“Then I guess it's a good thing you aren't.” Korra scrunches her nose up at him. Ina calls her name, and, face brightening, she scurries off without farewell.

The baths are as close to authentic as possible; Ina's grandmother, who set the place up almost ninety years ago, was a woman of the Southern Water Tribe. There are five private bathrooms, containing nothing more than the bath itself, a mirror, and a chair. The seaweed is harvested fresh every day, and is placed in a hot bath to release its oils; the patron then adds cold water, which is pumped up from the sea, as they like. Seaweed baths are regarded as something of a cure-all; not only do they ease aches and pains, but they're good for the skin, the hair and the scalp. Some of Mako's bruises from the tournament probably need the help, but Mako doesn't fancy the notion of getting into a bath of what is essentially oil.

Of course, for the oil to soak in properly, it is recommended that one use the bath naked.

When Mako realises that the girl he may or may not like is butt-naked just a few feet away from him, he spends a few minutes with his head in his hands, pretesting a headache, while he lets his blush fade away. Ina fusses over him for a short while and pushes some paracetamol at him; he pretends to swallow them to make her happy, but keeps them under his tongue; when she leaves, he spits them out.

“Get yourself together, Mako,” he tells himself, pacing around the small area enclosed by the counter. “What are you, twelve?” Truthfully, Mako has never really liked a girl properly before; he couldn't. How could he love someone else when he was the only person Bolin had? Love was nothing more than another tool in the arsenal, and any sexual desires were a simple inconvenience, to be gotten rid of as easily as possible.

But now he has the luxury of indulging these thoughts; he tries as hard as he can to quash them, but they keep coming back. Korra, wearing nothing but seaweed, feet sticking out over the rim of the too-short bath. Korra, skin slick with oil, hair fanning out about her head, seaweed trailing over the curve of her thigh...

“Shit,” he sighs, slumping against the fridge. He can see his reflection in the glass of the door, a red flush creeping up his neck.

“Uh... hello?” A shock travels up his spine; he sticks his head into the passageway, and meets blue eyes.

“I-Is everything okay?” He steps out into the corridor.

Most of Korra is hidden behind the door; her arm holds onto the edge of it, bare shoulder jutting out beyond. Her damp hair spills thickly down her shoulders. “My half-hour is up, so I wanted to get out, but I didn't get a towel...”

“Oh! Sorry, I- I'll go get you one right now!” He rushes away to the boiler room and picks the towel hanging closest to it; he returns slowly, the cold air a welcome balm on his hot skin.

When he gets back, her door is closed; he approaches slowly and, waiting momentarily, knocks.

It bangs open and he quickly averts his eyes to stare at the wooden ceiling. “Here you go,” he says, shoving the towel towards her; it is snatched from his hands with a “Thanks!” as the door is speedily shut.

He slumps against the wall and lets out a sigh of relief.

Korra leaves without incident, excepting an appraising look that leaves him pleasantly rattled.

 

Mako's noticed that Bolin's spending far less time at home, lately. He says he's staying at the camp after closing for a few hours, or is over at a friend's, but Mako knows better; he's spending time with Opal.

He doesn't mind the arrangement too much. Opal's a nice girl, far nicer than some Bolin's had attachments to, and her down-to-earth personality balances out his brother's more... scatterbrained temperament. He has no idea how Bolin ended up being so easy-going; Mako himself is the polar opposite, being constantly on guard, always alert. He guesses it was a way of escaping from the rigours of their childhood. Bolin had that luxury, at least. All Mako ever thought about was where their next meal was going to come from.

On one such night, Bolin comes home around midnight. Mako is still awake, slogging through a book on the history of the Beifong family; he reckons he should know a little more about the prestigious family that runs the academy he's going to apply to. So far it's been a lot of myths about flying pigs and overcomplicated family histories. (He seriously had no idea marrying your cousin was so common.)

Bolin is a welcome distraction from the tome, staggering through the door in a tuxedo and looking rather... shell-shocked.

“Bo? Where'd you get the suit?” Silently, Mako hopes he didn't steal it.

“Opal...” He slumps down into the chair opposite Mako and fixes him with an oddly serious look. “Mako... I... I had no idea...”

“What?” A brainwave hits him and he slams the book closed. “Bolin, I gave you the talk when you were eleven! Surely you know-”

“It's not that!” Bolin's face is a startling shade of puce, from his too-tight shirt collar to the limp curl in the middle of his forehead. “Oh, man, Mako... How can people be so...”

“So...?”

“Rich!” Bolin bangs his head off the table; Mako hurries to stop him, more worried for the rickety piece of furniture than his brother's brain. Bolin's eyes drift up and land on the abandoned book. “I have seen that dumb boar way too many times today. Gimme that!” Bolin snatches the book up and flips straight to the back.

“Bolin? What are you-?”

The book is shoved in his face, open on a page bearing a picture of an aristocratic family. The inscription reads _The contemporary Beifong family; l-r Huan Beifong, Baatar Beifong Jr., Baatar Beifong, Suyin Beifong, Toph Beifong, Lin Beifong, Wei Beifong, Wing Beifong, Opal Beifong._

The picture's a little old; the Opal in the picture is barely a girl, but Mako has seen that smile far too many times in the past few months not to recognise her immediately.

Mako looks slowly up at his brother. “Shit,” he whispers. “Did you...?”

“No, I-!” Bolin gulps down a large breath of air. “She invited me over to see her family, said it was just a small dinner... and then she gave me the suit, and then when I got into the dining room Toph Beifong and Lin Beifong were trying to murder each other with forks! Toph Beifong, bro! You know, the Blind Bandit Dad used to scare us to sleep with? And Lin Beifong! Your idol!”

Mako tries to recall the last time he saw Lin Beifong; red-and-blue lights gleaming on her polished epaulettes, too-loose handcuffs chafing his skinny wrists. He wonders if she recognised Bolin as the little boy she found alone in that ramshackle apartment, guided to him by the hysterical words of his older brother, stuck in a hospital bed with severe burns.

“What'd you do? Please don't tell me you-”

“I fainted.” Bolin looks sheepish, twisting his loosened tie around his fingers. “C'mon, bro, what would you have done if you found out your girlfriend was richer than Future Industries and Cabbage Corp put together?”

“Ran away, probably. Look, you've had a shock. Let's get you to bed.” Mako hauls his brother out of his seat and slings his arm across his shoulders. The book crashes heedlessly onto the floor. Mako remembers a time when he could carry Bolin as easily as a bag of food; now his brother is probably heavier than him.

“I hope she still likes me...”

“She's probably hoping the same thing.” Bolin smiles wanly in response, and it eases most of Mako's worries.

When Bolin is safely in bed (still wearing the suit), Mako returns to the kitchen and picks the book up off the floor. The pages are crumpled, but the picture escaped unscathed. He flips backwards, to Toph's section; the picture there is one of her and her friends, taken shortly after the founding of Republic City.

He recalls a picture that hung in his parent's old apartment; the man in it was bald, with blue arrows snaking over his skin, and floated in mid-air, hands cradled in his lap. Later Mako would come to know him as Avatar Aang, who stands facing the city, a benevolent guardian and protector of harmony.

Something inside him responds to the picture, as if he's seen Avatar Aang elsewhere, but not in a picture and not as a statue; it is as if he has seen him alive. He tries to dismiss it, but even as he closes the book he feels the old Avatar's grey gaze upon him, staff aloft and smile wide.

He rubs his eyes and decides to go to bed and leave the book for another day. Bolin is already asleep, soft snores emanating from the cracked door; Mako would do well to follow his example.

(He dreams that night, which is odd enough in itself, but what's even odder is the subject matter; penguin-sledding.)

 

On his next day, which he has free from work, Mako sleeps in until nine, and wakes up feeling wasteful. He spends the day housekeeping, sweeping floors and cleaning out the fridge and attempting to track down all of their dirty socks so he can clean them. Who else is going to do it? Bolin? Not a chance.

By the time his little brother staggers, bleary-eyed and out of the suit, into the kitchen, the place is cleaner than a clinic, and Mako is digging into a plate of scrambled eggs, liberally sprinkled with chilli flakes. Bolin joins in, and begins to perk up by his third round of toast.

While Bolin is washing his plate, Mako makes the trip downstairs to the laundry room to collect their clothes, and is detained by a neighbour who admonishes him for letting his sixteen-year-old brother out at night to get drunk. Mako manages to defuse the argument, but when he comes back, they have a visitor.

“Look who dropped by, Mako!” Bolin darts up to the door. “Miss Sato's friend!”

Korra grins sheepishly, slouching into the couch. “Um, hi, Mako.”

“Korra!” As he talks, he hastens to shove the laundry away somewhere unobtrusive; Bolin ends up taking it off him before Mako drops it. “Uh... How'd you find me?”

She waves an envelope about. “I was going into the city, and Ina wanted me to give you this, so I said I'd drop in.” She hands it to him carefully, making sure not to scuff the edges. “Sorry for surprising you.”

“No, you're fine...” He opens the envelope to examine the contents; a letter, proving his employment. He needs it to apply to one of RCU's grant programmes, this one for students who are employed off-campus; they'll supplement his income. Quickly, he stuffs it into a drawer in the kitchen, where all such things are kept. The deadline isn't for a while; there's plenty of time. He returns to the living room, where Bolin and Korra are engaged in animated conversation.

“So he and Jinora really...?”

“Kai's scared of heights, you see, so Jinora had to help him down, but she hurt her wrist getting up the tree. Still, though...”

“Tenzin is going to have an aneurysm.” Korra presses her hands to her eyes and lets out a theatrical groan. “Jinora kissing a boy? She'll be grounded until she's thirty!”

Bolin starts laughing; his phone bleeps, interrupting the conversation. “Wait, sorry...” His eyes widen as he examines his phone “I gotta go – it's Opal!” He tuns to Korra. “I'm sorry to leave you but,...”

“Hey, you're fine. Have fun!” She nudges him.

Bolin runs off without even saying bye to Mako, who sighs. “Beifongs.” Korra stifles a chuckle; Mako rolls his eyes and changes the subject. “Thanks for giving me that,” he tells her.

“No problem.”

He raises an eyebrow. “This place is on the other side of the city from Air Temple Island. There was no need to go so far out of your way.”

“I... may have had an ulterior motive...” she admits.

“Hmm.” he leans against the wall. “Do tell.”

“Okay, so... have you ever gone cliff-diving?”

“What? No!” His voice cracks on the 'no' for added dramatic effect.

“It's not what you think!” She raises her hands in a conciliatory gesture. “I was exploring down the coats and I found this seriously nice cove... and it has all these rock formations. They'd be perfect to jump off!” She catches his shocked expression and adds; “For fun!”

“Do you get a kick out of this?”

“Yes.” She grins, unabashed. “You wanna come? Asami's in some dumb stock meeting, and Tenzin wouldn't let the kids come 'throw themselves off rocks.' Pah!” She crosses her arms, and shuts her eyes with unnecessary force. One slides open. “Also the tide is out and it's really calm. Perfect conditions.”

He thinks for a few seconds, and finally, relents. “I wasn't gonna do anything today anyway.”

“Yes!” She hugs him quickly (he freezes up), and then shoves him towards his bedroom. “Go pack, I'll wait outside in the car.”

“You have a car?” he asks, dumbfounded.

“Yup.” She strikes a pose, fist raised. “I even have a license!”

“Wow. You have a car _and_ a license?”

“Shut up and go get clothes.” She kicks him lightly and he moves off, grumbling.

 

Mako decides that whoever gave Korra a license is clinically insane and should be revoked of any responsibilities immediately. She drives with only a passing regard for things such as lanes and traffic lights and they come very close to committing manslaughter. Mako clings onto the dashboard so hard that his nails leaves crescent-shaped marks on it.

“Cliff-diving will be a breeze after this,” he finally remarks, when Korra has parked ostensibly on the road, but mostly on the footpath.

“I didn't actually hit her!”

“That was divine intervention. Where's your secret cove?”

After pouting at him for a solid minute she relents and says; “It's just a short walk away. Follow me!” She strides off towards the cliffs; he follows without much fuss.

After a few short minutes' walk, the ground drops away to reveal a shady cove, nestled between two outcroppings of rock. Monolithic stacks litter the bay, dominated by an arch that soars above the placid water; it looks as if a god has struck the rock in anger, shattered shards of black stone the only proof of it.

Korra doesn't stay to gawk; she begins to clamber down the cliff, treading carefully on worn paths and sliding a part of the way on her butt, yelling, as Mako pursues her in attempt to save her from crashing into the scree at the bottom of the cliff face.

But they make it down without incident; the sand is truly golden, rippling with the breeze in small waves, and the sea is that shade of aqua green you only ever see on TV. Korra races towards the water, shedding her clothes as she runs; he pursues, almost tripping as he tries to wriggle out of his shorts, but when he extricates himself he dives straight into the water.

Korra hovers underwater in front of him, hair rippling about her head, cheeks puffed up; he laughs, bubbles gushing from his mouth. She nods her head and swims away; again, he follows.

They surface for breath occasionally, but mostly they stay underwater. The filtered light drains the colour from Korra's umber skin, turning it pale against the dark black of her swimsuit; clumps of seaweed drift past, making his skin crawl when it brushes against him. Masses of rock loom out of the seabed, and he scrapes his leg on one particular one encrusted with barnacles.

Finally, they scramble out of the water onto a shelf of rock. Korra spreads herself out, hair slapping wetly against the stone; he is content to cling to the side and let his legs wave in the water.

“Hey, are you bleeding?” Her head juts out over the side, watching the red stream under the water.

“It's nothing. Just another scar to add to the collection.”

She pushes him off the shelf; he splashes into the water and comes up spluttering. “Come on. We're not there yet.” She sticks her had out to him.

As he climbs back up, he grumbles “If you were gonna help me up, why did you help me up?”

“Caprice.” Her face is straight as she stands up, hands on her hips as she wrings her hair out. It sticks in messy strands to her sides, bared by the half-moon cut-outs in her swimsuit.

He sighs as he follows her, scrambling up rocks and avoiding patches of slippery moss and clumps of barnacles. They make it to a platform, beyond which there is only open sea. The drop to the water is fifteen fee if it's an inch.

“We'll start with a baby jump!” Korra says brightly.

“You call that baby?”

“Yup!” She flexes. “Watch this, weakling.”

She paces back to the far corner of the platform, and runs towards the opposite side to fling herself into the air. She plunges into the water with a joyous yell; it is a few seconds before she resurfaces, gasping.

She waves at him exuberantly and yells something indistinct. He yells back, and she gets the message, swimming over to a safe position where he won't crash into her.

He steps back and takes a few moments to breathe. Then-

He runs forward, feet slipping on the stone. This was probably a bad idea, he'll slip off and snap his spine on the rock face-

Now he is in the air, arcing up and down in parabola-

He punches into the water with vehemence, chest flung down, limbs aloft. His momentum drives him downwards, and for a few short seconds he feels the force of gravity, dragging him inexorably down.

He begins to float upwards, and starts to swim towards the light; he breaks the surface with a gasp, feeling a vague pain in his midsection.

Suddenly Korra is beside him, hands sliding against his wet skin. “See? Wasn't it good?”

“I thought I was going to die,” he states, simply. When Korra's face falls, he adds; “Let's do it again.”

So they do; they plunge, shrieking, into the water several times. Mako learns the optimal position; feet pointed downwards, arms tucked into your sides. Korra flouts the rules, flipping in the air as she dives, but Mako usually just steps off the edge.

When they've had enough Korra leads him to a small ledge, on which they sit, mostly submerged. The conversation meanders, both of them being too winded for sentences over five words, but after a while it takes an abrupt turn into territory Mako doesn't expect.

She asks him if he misses his parents.

He mentioned it before in passing, and she must have noticed his obvious lack of family today, excepting Bolin. Mako is usually reticent on this subject; a few curt sentences if he's in a good humour, and a frigid glare if he isn't, but at that moment it flows out of him. Their untimely demise when he was eight and the subsequent seven years he spent on the streets, interrupted by brief stays in care homes and foster families, encounters with gangs and the police and, finally, Toza, who saw him getting the shit beaten out of him under the Silk Road Bridge and decided to give him a life.

When he's done, floating on his back in the water, Korra says nothing. She just looks at him looking at the pristine sky. When he glances at her he sees no pity in her eyes, no sympathy, none of those feelings that he has grown to hate. Just understanding.

Wordlessly, she slips into the water and swims away. He follows, slightly nonplussed, as she wends her way through clusters of rock. Eventually, they reach another stone shelf; she offers him her hand to pull him out of the water.

She nods towards the jagged rock face behind her. “Let's go.”

They scale it slowly; not only are they barefoot, they're also wet, which makes footing treacherous. But they do eventually reach the top, and Mako realises they're standing in top of an arch; not the one he saw earlier, but another, smaller, one.

“So.” Korra stands, arm's folded, beside a hole in the apex of the arch; her smile is impish. “What do you think?”

He surveys his surroundings, slightly awed. The view is impeccable; he can see wild-flowers growing on the cliffs above, can see every chunk of stone, be it covered is moss or in barnacles.

“Not bad,” he says, simply.

Korra snorts. “Not the view! The drop!” She waggles her foot in the empty space beside her.

He steps carefully over beside her, and looks down. The fall is dizzying; it's at least sixty feet from his feet to the surface of the water, deceptively calm. “No way.”

“Aw, Mako...” She grabs his forearms, fingers digging into him. “Don't you trust me?”

He stares at her, his answer caught in his throat. Mako knows he has trust issues; it's understandable, given his childhood. He is cold and aloof, but all of that is simply a defence mechanism. Put up a wall and they can't get in, and if they can't get in, they can't hurt you.

But that's what Korra did; she slipped past his defences and now she's here, with her lucent eyes and a bold grin. He's known her for no more than two months and he would trust her with his life.

He nods mutely, and she tugs him sideways, their feet moving in unison, and suddenly they are plummeting.

The fall seems both endless and momentary; Korra is warm, chin digging into his shoulder. The arch rushes past him, the colour of the rock growing lighter.

Just before they hit the water, Korra whispers in his ear; “I'm the Avatar.”

And then they crash.

 

It makes sense, when he thinks about her; she fits the basic criteria of being seventeen, female and from the Southern Water Tribe. The Avatar must be fluent in all languages, and Korra, as far as he knows, is fluent in Republic Canton and Royal Siam, and presumably in Southern Aleut too. Then there's the martial arts thing; she practices taijichuan,and when he spoke to her in the dojo she seemed reasonably knowledgeable about Long Fist and Hung Gar. That's another Avatar thing; when words fail, fists will work. There are other, smaller things, like her swaggering self-confidence, her friendship with Asami Sato, one of the most influential people in Republic City, and her picking up Councilman Tenzin's children from camp. He guesses that she's staying with him.

He remembers she said, earlier, that she grew up without her parents; they must have taken her from them when she young, to train her. He can't imagine what her life must have been like up until now, stuck in a prison of ice in the middle of the South Pole, with nothing to do but learn languages and fight masters.

“So you believe me?”

Mako doesn't respond for a few seconds, trying to pull his shorts on. “Well, yeah,” he says, when he succeeds. He looks over at her as she stares at him. “What?”

“Nothing.” She smiles slightly as she wrings her hair out. “I'm just glad I have someone else who knows.”

And that's the thing; how on earth does she trust him enough to tell him? Mako is the sketchiest person he knows, and that's saying something; he counts such personages as Two-Toed Ping and Shady Shin among his acquaintance. What would they say if they saw Mako the Moll getting dressed with the Avatar?

“But... thank you. For telling me, I mean.”

A change comes over her face; it softens her strong features, relaxes the tension in her jaw and mellows the high sweep of her cheekbones. Up until now, she's been the very picture of an Avatar of power, akin to Kyoshi, but now she looks like an Avatar of peace, somebody for whom he would lay down your arms and go willingly into the embrace of an enemy.

“Don't thank me!” She pulls her hair back with a ragged tie. “I thought my chest was going to burst, not telling you. But... You know, you're the first friend I've ever had who didn't know I was the Avatar. The anonymity... it was nice, for a change. You like me for me, not because of my crazy past lives.”

“I don't get how anyone could not like you,” he tells her bluntly, and her hands still in surprise. He elaborates; “I mean, maybe at the start, but you'd wear them away. Like the tide.” He gestures vaguely to the expanse of ocean behind him. He begins to realise exactly how cheesy that sounded as Korra pulls her tank top on, hiding her flushed cheeks.

“You know, you seemed kinda... I dunno, cool? Aloof, maybe?” She tips her head to the side as she shimmies into her shorts. “That was when I first got to know you. But now-” she staggers sideways as she attempts to get her other leg into the shorts, “-now, I think you're just a dork.” He splutters at her, dropping his shoes, and she laughs and aims a flip-flop at his head.

The ride home is easy; Korra warbles along to bad guitar songs, even the ones in Ba Sing Se Mandarin, which Mako personally can't make heads or tails of. He spends most of his time in a state of abject fear; Korra's driving does not become any easier to handle with experience.

When she drops him off in front of his apartment, he hastily stops her from zooming off; a plan is forming in his head. It's probably a bad plan, but whatever.

“Look, I...” He drags a hand through his hair. “I enjoyed today. Do you mind if I return the favour?”

“Oh!” Her eyes light up, and he loses his train of thought for a couple of seconds. “Where to?”

“Meet me at the eastern side of Kyoshi Bridge tomorrow at eight o'clock. Wear clothes you won't tear.”

“Hey, are we going brawling under the bridge? Like you told me about? I haven't had a good fight in ages!” She makes a show of cracking her knuckles, biceps rippling ostentatiously.

“No, no slugfests. It'll be a surprise.”

“Hmm.” She pouts, and for a horrible second he thinks she'll disagree. “Okay! It's a date, then.” Her mouth screws up sideways in a roguish expression.

“I'll see you.” He manages to keep his voice even, and waves nonchalantly as she veers back into traffic and hurtles away, leaving several screaming motorists in her wake. It's only when he gets inside the apartment that he allows himself to smile, a wide grin spreading across his face, retaining some of Korra's sun-like warmth.

“Have a nice date?” Bolin's smiling as well, but rather more smugly.

“Not yet.” Mako walks buoyantly past him, leaving Bolin very confused.

 

The light is thinning out by the time Korra meets him, attired appropriately in skinny jeans and a faded blue t-shirt. Her shoes were probably white once, but the canvas has been scribbled on in a childish hand, messy characters he doesn't recognise sloping up onto her laces.

She catches him looking and explains; “Tenzin's kids got to them. It's Temple Lhasa. I'm glad nobody really speaks it, because I'm pretty sure Meelo wrote 'butt-fart' there.” She indicates a sloppy scrawl on the heel.

“What's it like, living on Air Temple Island?” he asks, as they set off on the bridge. It's past rush hour, so the traffic is not exceptionally busy, but there's still lots of pedestrians, ambling along through the warm evening. “I mean, do you have to live as a Nomad, with all the robes and vegetables and stuff?”

“Mostly.” She wrinkles her nose. “I have to get up at five for morning meditations, and then they won't even let me eat breakfast for an hour. The beds are softer than you'd think, though, and the robes are surprisingly breathable.” She whips her head to the side and fixes him with a look. “Do you wanna join? I think you'd look cute with your head shaved!”

He grumbles indistinctly and elbows her; she laughs, the sound pealing through the still air.

After a moment, she continues.“I love having the kids around, though; I like being an older sister! My mom and dad never got around to having any more kids, and there was no-one my age in the compound... Jinora, Ikki and Meelo are the closest thing I have to siblings.”

He chances a look at her; her gaze is faraway as she stares out at the dark waters of Yue Bay. It's beyond his comprehension to imagine his life without Bolin; they're brothers, a paired set. On the few occasions that they have been separated, Mako couldn't sleep for worry over him, and Bolin almost always cried upon his return. His heart aches for Korra when he thinks about how lonely she must have been. Did she miss her parents, or was she too young when she was taken?

“Well, where are you taking me?” she wonders, interrupting his thoughts. He jerks his head at the tower standing sentinel in the centre of the bridge. She regards it with suspicion.

“I thought you liked climbing things.”

“Wait, what?” She motions widely at the tower. “That?” He nods simply in reply, and a grin spreads over her face. “I knew you were fun!” And with that she rushes away, weaving between walkers; Mako contemplates running after her, but continues on at his own leisurely pace. She can wait.

When he reaches the tower, Korra is bouncing impatiently from foot to foot, scrutinising the metal face she is expected to climb up.

“Watch me.” Mako hoists himself up onto a ledge, feet swinging; Korra gives him a boost and he makes it up. He stretches out a hand to her; after a few moments' careful consideration, she takes it.

There's a some close calls; at one point Korra ends up dangling off a protruding nut, hollering out of a combination of fear and excitement. Mako manages to yank her back to safety. They make it up there, though, and just in time; the sun is beginning to set, base of the orb skimming the distant horizon.

They watch in wonder, sprawled on the metal plateau atop the tower. It's a clear sort of sunset, and the sun's brilliant orange rays penetrate through the sparse clouds, painting them pink and yellow and red. Everything is bright and warm; the sea ripples with golden streaks, Korra's hair turns ginger, and her skin glows. No matter how beautiful the sunset is, he can't pull his eyes away from her, from the expression of pure delight painted across her face, from the flush of her cheeks and from the rapid rise and fall of her chest as she recovers from the exertion of the climb.

Finally, the spectacle ends; the sun slips below the horizon, the clouds dull from vivid pink to muted lavender, and the sea darkens again. She turns to him, radiant, and on impulse he darts forward and presses a chaste kiss to the corner of her mouth.

He pulls back hesitantly, heart hammering, as she raises her hand to her lips, eyes wide with shock.

“Mako!”

“What?” He says it a little brusquely, pushed onto the defensive. He knew he shouldn't have kissed her; why would she, the Avatar, want to touch him?

“I'm disappointed in you...” She crawls towards him, actions at odds with her words; he pulls back slightly. “You're not the type to half-ass something, right? So do it again properly! Like this!”

She lunges forward and presses her mouth to his; she makes up for her lack of experience with sheer enthusiasm. Mako actually manages to stop thinking about half-way through, conscious only of Korra, the hard muscle beneath her skin, the tickle of her hair against his cheek, the smell of her everywhere; of the sea and fresh air and woodsmoke.

They pull reluctantly apart; Korra breaks out into a bold grin and tackles him, arms tight around his waist, face buried in his chest.

He glances at the sky, slowly fading to sable, pinpricks of diamond light emerging, and hugs her tightly back.

 


End file.
